


Lost... and Found

by shadowmaat



Series: A Bounty of Brothers [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: Boba Fett loses his father on the sands of Geonosis, but he also gains a squad of clones who'll do anything to protect him.





	1. Orphaned

Boba fell to his knees beside his father’s body, heedless of the battle raging around him.

“Dad, no!” He picked up his father’s hand, pressing his face against and willing the fingers to twitch. They didn’t, of course. His eyes burned with tears he know he shouldn’t shed, but they spilled out anyway. He could hear shouting, both people and droids, and the sound of blasters mixed with the hum of lightsabers. 

“Don’t go,” he said, in a voice too small to be heard in the din. “Don’t leave me!”

It was too late. He knew that. He’d known it as soon as the purple saber had struck his father. It had always been just the two of them. Sometimes Zam was there, but not anymore. And now his father was gone, too. There was no one left but him. Alone.

A clunk and skitter of metal made him look up. Someone had kicked his father’s helmet. He lunged, scrabbling between legs and droid parts to retrieve it, hugging it close to his chest. He could remember sneaking into his father’s room one day and trying it on. It had made him feel so powerful and grown up. He crouched in the sand, pressing his forehead against the front of the helmet, wishing he could recapture that feeling. Wishing his father was still there to ruffle his hair and laugh at his dreams. What was he going to do now? Where was he going to go?

The fighting was winding down. He knew he had to move, had to get away before anyone caught him, but leaving his father was… difficult.

“Hey, kid, how did you get here? It isn’t-”

Boba turned, leaning against the ground as he kicked out. His foot slammed into someone’s knee, making them stagger back, swearing.

“Easy, kiddo, we’re here to help,” said a voice that made his heart clench. 

“Dad?!” He stared up at a man in white Mandalorian armor that was similar to his father’s, but with obvious differences.

“Frip, he’s one of us!” The man knelt, removing his helmet, and Boba’s heart broke all over again. He looked like his father, but younger and without the scars.

“It’s okay, vod’ika,” the man said in his father’s voice. “We’ll take care of you.”

“No!” Snarling, he dropped his father’s helmet and took a swing at the- the clone. “You aren’t my brother! You aren’t ANYTHING!”

The punch missed and he stumbled, only to be caught in an armored hug. He fought against it, screaming, using words he wasn’t supposed to know, trying to get away from this thing with his father’s face.

He could hear people talking around him. He caught the words “Jango” and “son” and “orphan” but then the roaring in his ears was too loud. He slumped against his captor’s chest and sobbed, hot tears mixing with snot as it ran down his face. A hand smoothed down his hair, just like his father used to do.

“Shhh, we’ve got you, Boba,” his father’s voice said. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be your family now.”

Boba cried as he was picked up and carried away from the body on the sand. Life as he’d always known it was over and now a new chapter was about to begin. Everything was going to be terrible, he knew it.


	2. Leave No Vod Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surge Squad suffered heavy losses in the Battle of Kamino, but now they've gained a new- if small- replacement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art piece below is by the incredible [rebekahs-art](http://rebekahs-art.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Go commission her! And it was paid for by my best fiend [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker) (you can commission her, too, as a matter of fact). I love both of them so much for this!

“If the Jedi find out we’ll be sent straight back to Kamino and reconditioned,” Tooka said, smoothing down the hair of the boy sleeping in Thumper’s lap. “Not that we coulda left him behind, poor thing.”

“Maybe if I get close enough to one of them I can learn their voice and fake some orders,” Mimic offered.

“No,” Thumper said.

“But-”

_“No.”_  

“Smokey’s gonna go spare when he finds out.” Tooka checked to make sure their commander wasn’t nearby.

“Smokey almost died saving brothers from a fire,” Stitch reminded them. “He’ll be on our side. He’ll just be pissed we didn’t come to him first.”

Another transport landed and another group of clones boarded it. Deployment to Geonosis had gone a lot faster than extraction was. Surge Squad was low in the queue, which was fine by them, especially since they were now harboring a small fugitive.

It had been during post-battle cleanup that they’d literally stumbled over the undersized clone grieving beside the body of Jango Fett; their progenitor. Gossip was a valued commodity in the barracks on Kamino and it hadn’t taken long to figure out that the clone was Jango’s rumored “son,” Boba. The “son” who was now an orphan. In the middle of a war zone. Tooka had latched onto him and talked the others into smuggling the boy onto the transport with them and then figuring out what to do next once they were somewhere safe.

“Aren’t the Jedi supposed to like younglings?” Mimic draped a scrounged cloak over Boba.

“He’s a _clone,_ not a youngling,” Thumper pointed out, shifting the dead weight in his lap so the cloak provided more protection.

“Does that make a difference?”

Thumper shrugged. “Might.”

“He’s one of us,” Tooka said. “That’s all that matters.”

“Who’s one of us?”

“Sir!”

The clones, minus Thumper, came to attention.

“Commander, I can explain.” Tooka stepped forward, trying to block Smokey’s view of Thumper.

“What the kriff is that?” Smokey demanded, ignoring him.

“Uh, he followed us home. Can we keep him?” Mimic grinned.

“We’re not home and I’m still waiting for an answer.” Smokey reached up, scratching the scar material on his left cheek.

“It’s Jango’s son,” Tooka said. “We’re the only family he has left.”

“We’re keeping him, sir,” Thumper added.

“Are you lot _trying_ to get us decommissioned before we even get assigned to a Jedi?” Smokey, whose twisted features gave him a perpetually annoyed look, looked even angrier as he glared at his squad.

“Sir, no, sir!” They answered.

Boba roused, lifting his head. “Dad?”

Stitch stepped close to Smokey. “Look around, Commander. We can’t leave him here! He isn’t trained like we are.”

“I don’t need you,” Boba said. “I can take care of myself!” 

Smokey stared at him. He stared back, chin jutting out and his whole frame rigid in Thumper’s lap.

“C’mon, Smoke,” Tooka said. “A little vod'ika like this won’t take up much room.”

“I can share my rations,” Mimic offered.

“You leave him, you can leave me, too,” Thumper said, his own jaw set.

“Don’t need anyone,” Boba muttered.

“The next transport’s ours,” Smokey said. “We’d better hump it.”

“And?” Tooka held his breath.

Smokey rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to tell the Generals about this.  _After_ we land.”

Boba’s protest was drowned out by the landing of the transport. The clones hustled him (and his father's helmet) onboard. No one stopped them. No one even seemed to notice. As far as Surge Squad was concerned, they’d just gained a new, slightly smaller member. And they’d do their damn best to take care of him.


	3. A Small Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plo Koon discovers a squad of clones harboring a secret and he knows just what to do with them.

Plo Koon yearned to return to his own quarters. Every cell seemed to ache with the need to retreat; to hide within his room in his own atmosphere, without the burden of his antiox breath mask. He wanted time to grieve and recover from the losses at Geonosis, but such was not to be. His injuries were minor enough to allow him to stand, as long as his left leg bore most of his weight, and all able bodies were needed.

The wounded and dying Jedi had already been whisked off to the Halls of Healing, but there were still ranks upon ranks of soldiers unloading from the transports. Human clones. Plo’s heart clenched to see so many similar faces caught in similar expressions of grief and pain and exhaustion. There were no Jedi healers for these men, only their own medics struggling not to be overwhelmed with the sheer amount of trauma they were facing. Plo walked among them, datapad clutched in his hands as he tallied a list of the survivors. Whole battalions had been wiped out and there were gaping holes in the ranks of their newly-minted army.

Another transport landed. Another wave of clones disembarked. Plo steeled himself against the emotional onslaught and did his best to keep a headcount and note their detachments. One group of five clones exited in a cluster, heading for the far side of the hangar away from the noise and bustle. One was limping but otherwise they appeared intact. Plo watched them for a moment, debating if he should follow or let one of the other Jedi catch up to them, but he found his attention drawn down. Five men, six pairs of legs. One pair was shorter and clad in dark leggings rather than the white armor. He followed them, curious. The rearmost trooper with the limp noticed him and pivoted, bumping into his squadmates.

“Sir!” The trooper saluted him, glove bouncing off his helmet. The other four also turned, echoing the salute even as they tried to huddle tighter, very nearly forming a wall.

“At ease,” Plo told them. “I’m Master Plo Koon. I would like to thank you for your service to us during the fighting on Geonosis.”

“It’s what we were made for, sir,” another trooper said. He had a pattern of ripples on the left side of his helmet and a commander’s pauldron.

“Be that as it may, you have our gratitude,” Plo said. “Now, while we will be doing an official count later, we’re trying to get an idea of what numbers we have, so if I may have your squad and battalion then we can do our best to get you quartered with the rest of your group.” He paused to survey them, feeling tension and guilt radiating off them. There was also a spike of fury smoldering in their midst.

“Surge Squad,” the man with the marked helmet said. “404th Battalion.”

The number set off an alarm in Plo’s head and he checked his ‘pad, wincing at the result. The 404 was marked as a “total loss.” He amended the notation and looked up at the bare handful of survivors from a group of almost 800 men.

“I see,” he said, wondering how much to tell them. “Are there any injuries among your men, Commander…?”

Before he could answer a young boy shoved his way through the wall of armor and glared up at him.

“My father is dead because of you Jedi!” he snarled. “Is that  _injured_  enough for you?”

“Kriff! Boba, no!” One of the troopers tried to grab him. “Not now!”

All of the troopers were talking, now, most trying to calm young Boba while their Commander stepped to the front to address Plo.

“General, I can explain, sir.” He pulled off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. The skin on the left side of his face was twisted and had the slightly waxy look that Plo associated with a severe burn.

“I’ll kill them a-mmmph!” Boba’s eyes bulged as a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. He had darkish skin and a mop of black hair and despite the rage contorting his face he looked familiar.

“We, ah, found him on the battlefield, sir,” the Commander said. “He’s Jango’s  _son_ , Boba Fett.”

Plo caught the emphasis and felt the pieces click into place. Kenobi’s hasty report from Kamino had indeed mentioned Jango and his cloned “son,” and he himself had seen Mace cut down Jango during the battle. Understanding and sympathy washed through him. The other clones had removed their helmets and were trying to calm their younger… brother?

“He doesn’t have anywhere to go,” the Commander said. “Jango was his only family and we couldn’t leave him behind.”

“No, of course not,” Plo said, marveling at the squad’s compassion, and their ingenuity in managing to bring Boba back with them. Something whispered in the back of his mind. “What’s your name, Commander?”

The Commander came to attention. “CC-1271, sir.”

Plo’s mandibles twitched in distaste. The Kaminoans didn’t even see them as people, just as a product. Numbers.

“If you have a name for yourself I’d be honored to use it,” he said, choosing his words with care. Some of the clones he’d spoken to had chosen names for themselves and were happy to share. Others had only their designation or were too fearful of their Jedi “generals” to share.

CC-1271 hesitated, eyes shifting minutely in what Plo assumed was an attempt to gauge his expression through his rebreather. Plo did his best to radiate calm and trust.

“It’s Smokey, General Koon, sir.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Commander Smokey.” Plo rested his hand on the trooper’s shoulder. “Why don’t you introduce me to the rest of your squad?”

Smokey introduced them by their designations, but each clone provided their chosen names. The one with the limp (from a bad jump) was Tooka, who had patterns cut into his hair to mimic a feline. He was the group’s sniper.

Mimic’s hair was pulled into a messy bun and when he introduced himself it was with Plo's own modulated voice. After a startled moment Plo realized just how the young trooper had earned his name. He was also “good with computers,” which Plo took to mean that he was a slicer.

Thumper was the quiet one of the group, only offering up his name and that he was their munitions expert.

Stitch was the medic, and though he remained polite and respectful Plo had a feeling that could change if he said the wrong thing.

All of them were protective of Boba, who stood with his arms crossed and jaw clamped, glowering up at Plo like a miniature storm cloud. If lightning flickered off of him it would come as no surprise.

The combination of talents and personalities as well as their _interesting_ addition served to solidify the idea that had been taking root in the back of his thoughts. He tapped his mask, planning his next move.

“I have someone I’d like you to meet,” he said, and they all stiffened. “A former pupil of mine who chose to forge her own path rather than follow the one chosen for her.” He chuckled at the memory of the young Nautolan standing before the Council, soft shoulders squared as she politely rejected their assignment and informed them what she would be doing instead.

“She’ll never fight on the front lines, but I think you’ll get along very well with what she does do.”

The troopers shifted, muttering among themselves.

“General Koon, sir,” Smokey said. “Not that we don’t appreciate a possible assignment, but what about Boba? Are you… Will you be taking him away from us?”

Tooka’s hand landed on Boba’s shoulders almost in unison with Thumper’s.

“I’m not going anywhere with some  _shabuir Jetii!”_  Boba snarled. The hands on his shoulders were now holding him in place.

Ignoring the outburst Plo tilted his head at Smokey. “I would never remove a member of your squad from you, Commander.”

They stared at him. Even Boba. His mandibles flexed in a smile.

“Ah, forgive me for being rude,” he continued. “I’m sure you’ll want your bunk assignments and to settle in for some much-deserved rest.” He brought his ‘pad up again and typed in a few commands. “There will be food and beds for you all and ‘freshers available. I’ll see about having Issa stop by to meet you in the morning, if that’s agreeable?”

"Issa, sir?" Smokey inclined his head.

"Knight Issa Mar. If things work out she could be your new general."

“Uh, yes sir,” Smokey said, “that’s… that’s fine.”

Official barracks weren’t ready yet, but he found an isolated section of rooms that should keep most of the prying eyes away and minimize questions. After telling them how to get there and what arrangements to make for basic supplies, he gave a slight bow.

“I should be heading back to my own duties. Thank you again for your service and may the Force be with you.”

As he walked away he heard one of them whisper “What the kriff just happened?” and the sound of a smack as the questioner was hushed.

Oh yes, Issa was going to _love_ them. Plo would invite her to dinner to discuss it, but in the meantime there were still a lot of troopers to process. Though the grief and pain around him still weighed heavy on his shoulders it helped to know he’d managed _some_ good in the midst of all this. With a little luck and the will of the Force maybe he’d be able to accomplish even more good before the day was through. One could only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, yes, _technically_ if Issa's only a knight she wouldn't be a general, but this is early days yet and I'm willing to fudge things a bit. Also, for those of you familiar with my other stuff you may recognize Issa's name from the [Taking Flight](https://archiveofourown.org/series/805758) series by [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker), [dimtraces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimtraces/pseuds/dimtraces), and myself. I couldn't resist bringing a grown-up Issa in to help with this AU.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [unspeakablehorror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspeakablehorror/pseuds/unspeakablehorror) for the series title.


End file.
